


This is my weapon, this is my gun

by space



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: F/M, Gunplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space/pseuds/space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kono needs a temporary gun; Steve is so helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is my weapon, this is my gun

**Author's Note:**

> ~2000 words of **PWP, gunplay** written for the [H50 Multi-Ship Porn-A-Thon](http://hermette.livejournal.com/246432.html) | _Disclaimer:_ [I know jack-shit about guns.](http://www.imfdb.org/index.php/Hawaii_Five-0_%282010%29) Sorry if my BS throws anyone out of the REAL story here. ;)
> 
> Title from a story my dad told me about his time in Army boot camp. Yeah, it's just as crass as you'd imagine. &hearts  
> 

"This one too big for ya?"

Kono arches a brow and gives him a one-sided smile. "Pretty sure I can handle whatever you got for me, Boss."

Steve clears his throat and looks back at the shelves, for just a moment, _did she just fucking say that? Fuck yeah she did_ , and back to Kono.

They're in the closet. Literally.

Kono's main sidearm managed to skitter its way into the ocean today. Of course, she had her back-up Kel Tec in an ankle holster, but bad ass that she is, she round-housed the fucking arms dealer, putting him out of commission with one well-placed kick.

It was fucking sexy as hell.

Not that McGarrett wouldn't have been there in a second, if she'd needed him. He keeps his eye on his team. Even when... no, _especially_ when shit hits the fan.

So since the requisition for a new Ladysmith, her preferred weapon, will take a few days to process, Steve offered to loan her something of his.

Lady's choice.

His walk-in closet is a fucking arsenal. It's no surprise Steve collects guns like a woman collects shoes. And it's just as much of a variety as you'd imagine. Ranging from your casual black flats (Beretta 92FS 9mm) to your peep-toe strappy stiletto (HK416 assault rifle) to that favorite pair of heeled boots that go with everything and look fucking spectacular (R93 sniper rifle). She's kinda tingly just thinking about it.

He's holding a P226 out to her now. It doesn't escape her that it's his own personal weapon of choice.

"You want me to use _your_ gun?" She smiles and takes it from his hand, fingers brushing over his palm in the exchange. "Wow, that's not extremely phallic or anything."

"No, I... uh..." Steve stammers a bit. "It's just... a good gun."

"Hey, it's okay. I get it." And she really does, she really fucking does. Her tongue darts out of her mouth to swipe across her lips as she grips the gun in both hands, aiming at the corner of the closet. Getting the feel. She widens her legs, assumes the perfect shooter's stance. And then, quick as lightning and just as deadly, she sweeps around, shifting her body in a graceful arc towards the closet door, aiming as if someone was coming around the corner to engage.

But of course there's no one.

Only her ass now pressed into Steve's front, his hands automatically gripping her hips and holding her there. "Fuck," releasing on his surprised breath.

She raises slowly, keeping herself pressed against him, gauging his interest by the sound of his quickened breath, the tight grip of his hands, the growing tent in his pants. "Sorry, Boss." She tilts her head back and towards his, her breath ghosting across his jawline. "Just getting a feel for it."

Her eyes are hooded, her lips wet and parted, tongue resting heavy behind the bowed line of her teeth. He fucking wants. God, he wants her. "Kono..." Her hips shift at her name off his lips and it's all the answer he needs. "Fuck, Kono."

His lips crash down on hers, one hand coming to the side of her face to angle her and press her fully to his mouth and seeking tongue. She's right there with him, tongue tangling, breathy fucking moan driving him absolutely batshit crazy.

He pulls her around by her hip and presses her back into the nearest surface, which happens to be a bookcase type shelf holding case upon case of his armory. "Fuck," she cries out as her lower back and shoulder blades are pressed into the hard wood. But she doesn't stop her assault on his mouth, doesn't fight when he whispers an apology and grasps her thighs, pulling her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck, as he moves her to the low assembly-table in the back of the closet.

"Perfect, god," he's whispering along her jaw as she settles against his hips and rocks up into him. His hands are under her tiny t-shirt and pushing it up, palms finding her breasts and squeezing through the thin fabric of her bra. Her nipples pebble under his thumbs and she's whispering his name as she shoves the fingers of one hand into his waistband and pulls him against her harder. He groans at the perfect friction and nips her earlobe between his lips and teeth.

Her attempts to open his pants with one hand aren't going so well. "Steve. Fuck." Her teeth scrape his jaw, then she's pushing him back just enough for her to place the gun she's still holding on the table beside her, and helping him pull her shirt over her head. He's sucking her through the cream lace over her breast, holding her waist to keep her at his lips. As if she'd be going anywhere. She's quick with the back-clasp and then that barrier is blessedly gone.

He laves her nipples and she's so glad he's not a fucking tease. He's squeezing and cupping her expertly, mumbling into her skin, telling her she's delicious and so fucking hot and things she'll never understand or remember afterward because her brain is firing so fast and everything is all about this.

And all about getting him naked, too.

She reaches for his pants again, working the button and zipper with no problem now that she has both hands. She pushes the pants down his hips and realizes with a grin, "The Commander likes to go commando."

"Fuck yeah," he says, tugging at the zipper of her pants and pulling everything down and off as she pushes up from the table, lifting her hips. Then he's back against her, the thick hot length of him rubbing just right, right where she needs him most.

Her eyes widen and her breath catches. God, she's so close just from this. He presses one hand against her lower back, just above her ass, keeping her in position and thrusts again, just grinding and rolling and fuck, it's all she needs to go over that edge with a cry, eyes screwed shut and nails digging into his shoulders as she just fucking lets go and falls.

"So fucking hot," he whispers into her neck as he sucks and nibbles along her racing pulse point up to her ear.

Her fingers twitch and she realizes she's getting some feeling back, can sure as hell move and rid him of that cotton she feels beneath her palms. Her mouth fucking waters, knowing what's hidden beneath. She raises into him as she reaches for the hem and he helps pull his shirt over his head. She's fixated on his broad inked shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest, his pecs expanding, his abs rippling as she grazes her touch along them. She looks into his eyes. "Impressive. I've always thought so."

His grin borders on goofy and then trails away as he cups her cheeks and pulls her in for another kiss. It doesn't take long before his plunging tongue and twitching cock have them both ready for more.

He bends down, quickly pulling at his pants to get his wallet. Flipping it open, he retrieves a condom, tossing the black leather aside as an afterthought. He's pulling at the wrapper when she takes it from him, expertly opening and rolling it onto him, her grip firm and steady. He places his palms on either side of her hips, enjoying her touch, and feels the gun - his gun - that started all of this.

His eyes lock with hers as he pulls it into his hand and lightly taps it against her hip.

She looks down then back up at him, her pupils wide, her tongue against her lips. She nods.

He picks it up and makes a show of pulling back the slide, checking the chamber and the magazine, ensuring them both that it's unloaded. Never losing eye contact - he's gotta be absolutely sure she's okay with this - he trails the underside of the barrel up her arm, over her shoulder and along the side of her neck. Her face is pure pleasure as she shudders.

The cool metal leaves a trail of goosebumps along her skin and he's quick to follow with his lips and warm breath upon her shoulder, down her neck. He pulls the tip of the gun across her chest and around the outside of one breast, dragging it underneath and lifting the flesh, her breast now resting on the slide, her mocha nipple upturned and waiting for his tongue.

"Steve," she moans, then she's rolling her palm across the head of his cock, slipping around to grip him firmly and pull him into her. "Fuck, McGarrett, inside. Now."

He releases her breast with an audible pop, lets her align them and then pulls at her hips and pushes his at the same time, seating himself deeply on the first thrust.

"Fuck, fuck, god yes," Kono cries, her head tilting back, exposing the sleek line of her neck. He pulls back about halfway and then thrusts again, hard, moving his hand to support behind her arching back, pulling her neck into range of his lips.

He feasts on her skin, tasting of salt, the bitter tang of ocean and sweat, a fucking tropical heaven right here and all for him. "Kono, baby," he thrusts and grinds and thrusts again. "Feel so good."

"Yeah, yeah..." She puts her arms behind her now, palms flat on the table, supporting her own weight and tilting them into a whole new angle. Deeper, better, fucking... god, fucking awesome.

Steve seems to realize once again that he's still holding the gun, now squeezed between his palm and her hip. He rests it lightly between her breasts, the full weight of it on her chest. He pulls it down down down with just the tip of his trigger finger on the guard, the black metal sliding easily along her sweat-slick skin. When the butt of the gun finally reaches the top of her mound, he presses it lightly into her, hoping it's enough.

Her eyes have tracked the progress and her breathy pants have become moans of pure unadulterated pleasure. "Harder Steve, fuck me harder. So close, so close."

He's close too, his balls are tight and the heat of her is nearly more than he can bear. He hooks his arm under her knee and presses back and up, opening her wider, her cries coming now with every punctuated thrust. "Come on, babe. C'mon, Kono. I got ya." He presses the grip of the gun against her mound just a fraction harder and that's all it takes.

She's coming hard, pulling herself up tight against him, gripping his back, her nails digging into the hard muscles. The pleasure-pain of her grasp pushes him over with her and they ride wave after wave after wave of pleasure together.

She slumps against him, nearly dead-weight in his arms and he cups her cheek lightly, brushing her hair back from her sweaty temple. "You okay?"

"Hell yeah," she kisses into his palm. "Better than okay."

He laughs and she feels his stomach muscles, and something much harder, ripple between them. Pulling back, she retrieves his gun. They're still intimately connected and she feels him twitch inside her as she presses the warm, wet metal into his chest.

"So I can have this one?"

Her question carries a lilt of feigned-innocence that makes him twitch again. So fucking hot. "Or I've got another just like it, if you don't wanna..."

"No, this one. This one's mine. Well, ours." She smiles again, this time a little wickedly. This woman and her effortless cache of expressions. He thinks she probably has as many faces as he has weapons. Every one beautiful. "I'll clean it. Load it. Use it against bad guys. Then I'll get my Ladysmith and..."

"And...?"

"And then I'll have to return this to you." She kisses him lightly. "Trust me, it'll be fun."

Oh, he has no doubt.

_OMFG THE END_   


  
.:.


End file.
